Their Destiny
by Tashilover
Summary: Cas died in 2014. When he woke up, it was 2009.
1. Chapter 1

Cas never let his finger up. He kept it down, hard, emptying the whole clip into the onslaught of croatoan victims. They came from _everywhere. _They crawled through the open windows, bottlenecking at the entrances and although this made it easier to shoot them, they just kept coming.

"I'm out!" He cried back to Jackson. A croat came screaming at him and Cas raised one boot and kicked her jaw in. She stumbled and Cas took the opportunity to slam the butt of his automatic into her throat.

Jackson from the side threw him a fresh clip which Cas slapped in immediately, then fired upon six more screaming croats.

From the side there was sudden cry of pain and Cas looked to see Risa being surrounded by four of them. They pulled her down, their teeth snarling, nails tearing.

He turned to help her, to put her out of her misery at least when he was tackled from the side. He went down, twisting wildly, shoving his elbows and knee to fight off the offending croat. Cas managed to kick him away, but two more took his place.

From the side he could hear Jackson and the others screaming, being torn apart. Cas was screaming too at this point, as one croat bit off three of his fingers and another was gnawing at his calf. He fought and kicked and yelled obscenities but more and more croats descended upon him.

Soon all he saw was blood- _his _blood and the terrifying blackness on the edge of his vision. As the world slowly turned black, he wondered and prayed, if Dean succeeded.

He knew he didn't.

()

Cas jerked awake. His legs kicked out, his hands going up in a defensive pose to ward off blows. When nothing happened, he slowly lowered his arms, his eyes darting around. He was alone.

He touched his torso, his fingers, found them all intact and not digested. Shit, was that a dream? Usually the drugs he took kept such nightmares away. But he didn't feel high…

Slowly he got up, still on guard. He looked around, not recognizing the building he was in. It was old and dilapidated, but it wasn't the old and dilapidated building _he _died in. There were no bodies, no blood or gore or croats. Just him.

Fuck, he didn't even have his gun.

Cas ran a shaky hand through his hair, trying to remember what the hell he took that sent him on such a wild acid trip. _Was _it acid?

He jumped when he heard a noise and mentally berated himself for acting like an idiot. He quickly ran to a far corner, ducked behind a rotting door. He heard shuffling, shoes scraping against the floor, the noise slowly coming towards him.

Cas squatted down, patting himself for a weapon. A pistol, a knife, a fucking fork! Didn't he bring anything with him?

Slowly, carefully, he peered around the rotting door.

There were three of them. Teenagers. They sat, huddled in a group, passing around… beer?

This wouldn't have surprised him; how many times did he sat around in some shackle, passing out warm bottles to Dean and others? No, it wasn't the youth of the group, the beer, or the sex talk they were having, it was the clothes they were wearing.

Nike sneakers. Hoodies with logos on them. Gold watches. Nobody had those kind of luxuries anymore.

Where the hell was he?

It took careful maneuvering to leave the building without alerting the drunken teenagers. Cas didn't believe they were croats, but it wouldn't kill him to be careful.

Once he was outside, the sun blinded him for a moment.

He was surrounded by old buildings, sitting next to unused or uncared for railroad tracks. Iron tracks, he noted. So those kids weren't demons or croats. So where the fuck was he?

When was he?

Cas suddenly grinned. He walked over, letting out a slow whistle at the beautiful red sports car sitting out all by her lonesome. Definitely not his time.

Well, it would be a crime to allow those boys drive this beauty while under the influence, Cas thought gleefully as he shoved himself down into the driver's seat. Within three minutes he had the car running and peeling out of there.

He wasn't sure where he was going and took a left to what looked to be the main road. He leaned forward, switched on the radio and a blast of the Beastie Boys rang out.

He waited.

Usually it was at this point, when the individual began to realize what situation they were in, did the angel decide it was time to pop in. Cas kept glancing to the passenger seat, expecting for Zachariah to show his face.

Nobody did.

"Why am I here?" Cas said out loud. "Do you wish for me to change the future? Do you want me to find Dean and help change his mind?"

Nobody answered. The radio didn't even blip.

"Bitch."

()

This was… eerie.

People walked past him. Happy, uninfected people. Women, men, children for god's sake. A few threw him dirty looks and Cas supposed they were not unfounded. He was kinda scraggly looking.

Still, walking around like this in the open with no weapon…

Cas felt the world move beneath him and he reached out to a lamp post to keep from falling down. Perfect timing for a panic attack. Stupid.

He jerked when a hand was placed on his shoulder. A young woman- pretty, he might add- was looking at him with concern. "Sir, are you alright?"

Cas flashed her a dazzling smile. He learned very quickly that women found him attractive and should use that fact to his advantage whenever possible. "I'm fine, just a little dizzy," he told her. "Say, you wouldn't have a cell phone I could use for a quick moment?"

She was hesitant until Cas turned the level up on the charm. By the time he got his hands on her cell, she was blushing six shades of red.

Even though it been a few years since he'd use a cell phone, he still remembered Dean's number. He remembered a lot of things.

The cell on the other end rung three times before a gruff, "Hello?" came through.

Cas felt his heart beat a little faster. "Where are you?"

"Cas?" He heard Dean mutter. "Uh… Tulsa. The Hush hotel… room 123."

Cas ended the call. He wondered briefly how Dean was going to react when his Castiel will not show up in the next five seconds.

He thanked the girl and handed back the cell phone. Tulsa was only a half hour drive from here. If he hurried, he could get to Dean before he decided to call Past-Castiel, wondering where he was.

Shit. Cas wasn't sure if he was ready to meet past-him.

()

The ride was too relaxing for his nerves. It was always a sign when there was too much silence. He knew there was no virus at this point in time and he should sit back and enjoy. Was this post-traumatic stress? He needed a beer.

Still, it was nice to see the land untouched.

He pulled up to the Hush hotel's parking lot and immediately zeroed in on Dean's precious black Impala. Dean had let the poor beauty go to rust simply because it was not designed for over-terrain environments. It was one thing driving it on the back roads of the states, it was another trying to drive it over fallen bodies and debris.

Cas got out of the car, having no plans to use it again. By now those little boys were probably calling their mommies and daddies and reporting the car missing. He stalked towards Dean's room.

The door unexpectedly opened and on reflex, Cas threw himself behind another car, hiding himself. Two individuals came out of the room. One was Dean and the other-

_Lucifer._

No, not Lucifer. Not yet at least. Sam Winchester.

"So did Cas say anything to you?" Sam asked Dean as they made their way to the Impala.

"Nothing," Dean said opening the car door. "He just asked where we were and hung up. He'll probably pop up at some point today."

Sam frowned. "That isn't like him."

So, is he the reason Cas was sent back to this time? Was he to prevent Sam from saying yes? How, by killing him? By telling him of the future? Cas had no idea why Sam said yes. Nobody did.

He watched the Impala drive out of the parking lot, the familiar roar of the engine music to Cas's ears. He assumed they went to grab lunch, considering the time. Or maybe it was a case. Either way, he wasn't going to let them out of his sight.

()

**Edit: **4/24/10. Added a few things, just made a few sentences flow better.

A/N: This story is non-slash. Though it's not exactly Gen, either. Interpret as you will. R/R, please.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I'm glad that everyone is enjoying this! In the beginning, I wanted future-Dean to be the one to travel into the past, but that wouldn't be as much fun as hippy-Cas. It's fun writing his dialogue, but it's also kinda hard because I don't know what the extreme would be.

I've also decided this will not be slash. Though, if you squint…

Anyhoo, R/R!

()

"'Scuse me…"

Cas waited fifteen steps before he ducked down into an alley. He gave one casual glance back at the gentleman he just robbed and saw the poor oblivious guy was still talking on his cell phone.

Cas pulled out the wallet and quickly emptied it of cash. Long ago he would've felt guilty about this, but now he barely gave it a second thought. He tossed the wallet into a mail box, having no need for the credit cards.

He got about a hundred and fifty dollars, which he used to buy himself a hat and a short iron dagger from the pawn shop. At the moment he had no intention of using it, though it wouldn't hurt to be armed.

Sam and Dean sat in their preferred spot: in a corner, near a window. Perfect place to have a private conversation, yet public enough to keep an eye on the door. It was a strategic move, ingrained by their father. And ingrained into Cas too, as he took a corner booth on the other side of the diner. From where he sat, he could only see Sam.

Until a pair of overly large breasts interrupted his view.

Cas didn't move. "Wow, those are lovely."

The middle-aged waitress huffed. "We don't do hand-outs here. If you wanna eat, you gotta pay."

Cas grinned at her. "Well, uh," he moved closer to her chest, blinking at her name tag. "Jane. Could you be a good girl and bring me a cup of coffee, please?"

"Prick," she muttered, moving away.

He smiled after her and looked back at the Winchesters. They were gone.

"Crap," he hissed. He dashed up from the booth, catching sight of Dean's back through the windows. He was about to run after him when a hand clamped down on his shoulder and threw him back down into the booth.

His hat was violently ripped from his head. "Who are you and why- Castiel?"

Cas's hand gripped the plastic cushion tightly. Sam Winchester, _Lucifer _was staring down at him. Cas had to fight against every nerve ending screaming at him to shove the knife into Sam's throat and run.

Sam settled into the seat across from him, and took his phone out of his pocket. "Dean, yeah, it's Cas. Come over."

"You knew I was following you?"

"Yeah," Sam shrugged, as if it was no big deal. "Though we didn't recognize you. What were you doing, testing us or something?" He snickered as he looked over Cas's appearance. "What are you wearing? You look like a hobo."

Cas felt his heart beating a mile a minute. He could do it. He could kill Sam Winchester. Decapitate him, mutilate his corpse, then salt and burn the pieces and scatter the ashes. Billions wouldn't have to die. Dean would mourn, but he wouldn't have to turn into the emotionless, cold-blooded killer he was in five years time.

Cas gripped the knife handle so hard, he thought his hand would break.

"Castiel?" Dean suddenly appeared at the table. Cas moved his hand away from the knife. "What the hell are you wearing? You look like-"

Cas raised his head up to him.

He looked so _young. _The absence of scars, the difference of weight, that damn dead look gone from his eyes… When was the last time Cas had seen his Dean smile? Not a sneer, or a smirk, but smile because he was happy or pleased or content? Fuck, when was the last they talked about something that didn't involve demons or the Colt or Lucifer?

Cas couldn't remember.

Dean took a step back, his mouth slightly opened in a brief look of surprise. While it was humorous to see his old friend befuddled like he was, it was taking too long for Cas's taste and decided to throw him a bone. He grinned. "Hello Dean."

"Holy shit!" Dean exclaimed rather loudly, catching a few dirty looks thrown his way. "Are you… you're really…?"

"I am."

Sam's eyes darted between them, confused. "What's going on?"

"Sam, this is…" He trailed off. He paled suddenly. "Wait here," he muttered quickly before reaching down and grabbing Cas by the crook of the elbow. "You and me, we need to talk."

Cas allowed himself to be steered out of the diner. Once Dean came to the Impala, he let go of his arm and demanded, "Did Zachariah do this to you?"

Cas sighed. "I don't know."

"Does Past-you know you're here?"

"I don't know."

Dean frowned. "Are you high right now?"

Cas suddenly giggled. Of all the questions to ask. "No. Believe me, I wish I was because that would make a lot more sense."

"Jesus," Dean broke off, running a hand through his hair. "I don't get it. I mean, what is the point of bringing you back? I thought… I mean… I saw your corpse, Cas. You were dead before I left."

Cas shrugged. "I don't understand it either. Only an angel has the power to heal me and send me through time, but I don't know if this was done by Zachariah. Usually he would've shown up and given me some Yoda-cryptic message by now." Dean snickered. "What?"

"Sorry. I don't think I'll ever get used to hearing you sound so… un-you."

This was the Dean Cas missed so much. The Dean who found humor even in the most random of times. "Yeah, well, there can only be so many reasons why I'm here. Convince you to say yes to Micheal, convince Past-me to hand you over to Zachariah or-"

Dean suddenly straightened, his eyes narrowed and his voice got deeper, thinner, as he asked, "Are you here to kill Sam?"

Cas could see it in the tremble of his arms, the stiffness of his back. Even after all he had seen of the future, even with the risk of Sam saying yes and the death of billions, Dean would not allow anyone to harm his brother. His lips thinned. "Even if that's what Zachariah meant for me to do, I won't."

"Why not?"

"Two reasons. One," Cas held up a finger. "Sam was my friend once. I don't murder my friends. And two… we both know I would have to kill you first. And that is something I will never do."

Some of the tension left Dean's shoulders. Not all, but enough for him to get out of the defensive posture he was holding.

Cas jerked his head towards the diner. "So, does Sam know?"

"About the future? Yeah, I told him. I didn't tell him every gritty detail, but I told him," Dean sighed and leaned against the Impala. "I told him how future-him said yes to Lucifer. I told him about the outbreak of the Croatoan virus, the devastation-"

"So what are these 'gritty details' you spared him of?"

"Well, I didn't tell him you turned out to be a hippy." Dean suddenly grinned. "That, I think, would literally blow his mind."

Cas smiled, a familiar sense of playfulness bubbling up in him. He opened his mouth, ready to tell him that he was just jealous just because women flocked to Cas easily when all of a sudden, the doors to the diner flew opened and Sam ran out towards them, gun at the ready.

"Dean!" He cried, leveling the gun up to Cas's head. "Get away from him!"

"Whoa, whoa, Sam, calm down! What are you doing?"

"That's not Cas! He just called me on the phone! Dean, move out of the way!"

"Aw, crap, did you tell him where we are? Sam, put down the gun and tell me-"

There was a brief sound of feathers fluttering. The wind picked up and Cas stiffened as the pale hint of Grace entered his senses.

Castiel appeared beside Sam, looking as stoic and calm as he always did. But nobody could miss the way his eyes widened in shock when he saw Cas, how his arm shot out to make Sam lower the gun.

Sam lowered the gun, his eyes darting back between Cas and Castiel, confusion overtaking his features.

Dean sighed. "Cas… meet, uh, Cas."


	3. Chapter 3

Cas had always liked Chinese food. He gained an acquired taste to it during his years hunting with Dean and it found its way to be on his top ten list of favorite foods. Unfortunately, like most of his favorite foods, it ultimately went extinct when the Croatoan virus broke out.

Considering his younger form never ate, never drank, he admitted he must've looked out of place as he swallowed another mouthful of sweet and sour pork. "Mmm…"

Dean was rubbing his forehead. "This… this is weird. Even for us."

"Very," Castiel agreed. He was standing in the far corner of the motel room, staring at his future-self with quiet curiosity. "I don't see the point of why you are here."

Cas shrugged. "I don't understand it, either. One moment I was dying, getting eaten alive by croats and the next thing I knew, I'm here. Whole and unravished. Well, whole again," he wagged his eyebrows at Dean who immediately blushed at the implication. At his counter-part's confusion, he elaborated. "Women like us."

Castiel shifted uncomfortably, though said nothing.

Cas's gaze eventually went over to Sam, who'd been unusually quiet during the whole thing.

Cas never hated Sam, but never really liked him either. To him, Sam was Dean's brother, the boy with the demon blood and that was it. He was never his friend or an ally and even when Cas was on the run from heaven and had to rely on the help of the Winchesters, he always placed more trust in Dean than Sam.

Still, Cas can't deny he had come to know Sam. Know his likes, his dislikes, his quirks, his humor, his ideals. He'd come to recognize that when Sam goes quiet, it means he's really upset. "Sammy," Cas smirked when that got an annoyed jerk out of the boy. "You've been awful quiet."

"I think it's because we're all avoiding the reality here," Sam said darkly. "You, being here, confirms it."

"Confirms what?"

"That I say yes to Lucifer."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean immediately stood from his chair, his hands up as if trying to calm a man with a gun. "This doesn't confirm nothing."

"Yes it does, Dean!" Sam protested. "You saw the future! Right now, here? This is the past. Even you went into the past, you couldn't change anything! If future-Cas is here, then that means this is fate."

"So what the hell does that mean, huh? What, are you going to say yes to Satan just because it's _fate?"_

"No!" Sam shot up from his seat, ran a hair through his hair. "But future-me did! Maybe something forces me or… Cas," he turned to former angel. "Do you know why I…?"

Cas sucked the front of his teeth. He stole a quick glance at Castiel before looking back at Sam. "No," he said, taking a swing of beer. "Nobody does. Not even your brother."

"The future isn't written in stone, Sam," Castiel stepped forward, slightly glaring at his older-self. "The time line is always in motion, always in flux. Even Chuck, the prophet, could not foresee my rebellion. And besides, like Dean said, _his _being here proves nothing."

That actually threw Cas. One of the advantages of being your own future is that you basically know everything your past has done. So Cas was confident in knowing what Castiel was about to say or why. This time, he didn't know why. "Oh?" He grinned, bringing the bottle back to his lips. "Why is that?"

"You may not be real."

The bottle stopped right before it reached his lips. Cas set the bottle down, his eyes narrowing. "Shit," he said. "I hadn't thought of that."

Dean was rubbing his forehead again. "What does that mean?"

"It means what it means," Cas said darkly. He suddenly lost his appetite. "I may just be a product of Zachariah's creativity. I have memories, I have my own thoughts, but they're no different than the fake ones he produced for you and Sam during that time you worked at that company."

"Zachariah could've made him as easily as he made you believe you didn't have a brother," Castiel told him.

"So, is he a threat?" Sam pointed to Cas, to which he gave a short indignant 'hey!' "I mean, can Zachariah find us now?"

Castiel's eyes drifted upwards, his mouth tightening in concentration. He was quiet for a few long moments. "No," he said finally. "If he was being watched, I would know. He is here, on his own."

"Hey!" Cas said suddenly, gaining the attention of everyone in the room. "Stop talking about me like I'm not even here."

Castiel didn't miss a beat. "Technically, you're not," he turned to Dean. "I'm going to gather information. I'll be in touch." And with that, he was gone.

Cas angrily lifted up the beer bottle, taking a hard short drink. He didn't know what to expect from his past-self, but the passive anger towards him was low on his list. Dean looked at him. "What's your problem?"

"What?"

"I mean, his problem. Cas's. You know, other-you."

"It's amazing you lived this long," Cas shook his head. "I don't know. It's been a long time since I've been…" he waved a hand in the empty space his past-self stood in. "Like that. So who the hell knows."

"Seems perfectly logical to me," Sam muttered. "I mean, I turn into Lucifer and Dean turns into a cold-blooded killer. We both turn into people we don't like," he shrugged. "Maybe Castiel didn't like how he turned out either."

()

A/N: You guys are so awesome. The only reason I've been putting out these chapters so fast is because it's been snowing like the dickens here on the east coast of the US. I haven't been to work or school in nearly a week because of the icy roads. Also, this fic is so much fun to write. R/R, please!


	4. Chapter 4

The Winchesters stared.

Cas promptly ignored them, snapping back the hammer with relative ease and placed the gun down. He reached over and picked up a new gun, saw that it needed cleaning and without permission from either boys, began to take it apart.

"Wow," Sam said. "I guess Dean taught you how to do that."

"Among other things," Cas mumbled, picking up a rag. "Once my mojo left, I was pretty much useless. The very first time I picked up a gun, nearly shot my foot off."

"I thought you broke your foot," Dean said.

"Two different foot stories," Cas grinned. "But you two seriously have to stop staring at me like that. I feel like I should be stripping."

Sam made a face. "Sorry. I don't think I'll ever get used to you saying things like 'stripping' out loud. Or cleaning guns. Or having facial hair."

"Well, once the apocalypse happened, I learned to adapt." He shoved the cleaning rag down the barrel, gave it a few quick swipes.

"So I guess you didn't find God, huh?"

Cas didn't slow down in his cleaning, didn't even blink. "Obviously."

"And Jimmy? What about him?"

Dean stepped forward, his voice lowering. "Sam…" he warned.

"It's alright," Cas said. He placed away the barrel and turned to Sam. "To be frank, I honestly don't know. His soul could still be inside, but I haven't felt his presence in years. Personally? I think he's dead." He turned away. "Why all the open-wound questions? Trying to hear how bad it gets?"

Sam said nothing. Cas answered anyways. "It's bad."

"Okay, enough," Dean announced loudly. "I'm going to grow a uterus with all of this drama. Sam, no more questions. Cas, shut up."

"Hey, he asked."

Dean ignored him. "Sam, have you found out where Shelia is buried?"

When Sam didn't answer right away, his eyes still trained on Cas, Dean said again, "Sam!"

Sam's gaze flickered to Dean and he sighed. He leaned over to his open laptop and flipped the screen towards him. "South End Cemetery," the laptop screen showed a picture of a beautiful grass hill, as little white headstones dotted the scenery. "Real high class. According to the website, it costs over five thousand just be buried here. Better the scenery, higher the prices."

Dean made a face. "Jeez, what's the point if you're not going to be around to enjoy it?"

"It gets better," Sam continued. "The money isn't just for the scenery, the cemetery also has security cameras and guards."

"What? Why?"

"To keep people like us out. A lot of these corpses are buried with their jewelry. They don't want anybody grave robbing them."

"Don't lump us into that category. We're not robbing them; we're simply digging one of them up so we can toast her bones."

"A hunt?" Cas suddenly spoke up, sounding interested. "Can I come?"

Sam and Dean threw each other looks. "Aw, come on," Cas insisted. "If Past-me could trust me to be alone with you guys, it means I'm not dangerous." He snapped the shotgun back together and inwardly winced at the implication. "Not to you guys, at least."

()

"It's not a ghost!"

The realization came a bit too late as zombie-granny suddenly grabbed Sam by the hem of his shirt and threw him. Sam landed hard, the muted thud only helped echo the sound of his pained cry.

Dean brought up his gun and shot double barrel into Zombie-Granny's chest, hoping it'll slow her down. Shooting rock salt at a zombie had as much effect as spraying water on a fish. Dean cursed and wished he'd trusted his instincts and brought his armor piercing rounds. He ducked and rolled under the zombie's arm, kicking out a leg to trip her.

Granny-zombie stumbled and fell and Cas, seeing the opportunity, jumped on her. With his knees he pinned her flailing arms, using his weight to hold her down. He quick whipped out his iron knife and began slashing at her neck.

Granny was screaming, calling him a "Dead mother fucker-!" before he cut through her vocal cords. He kept slashing downwards till he exposed the neck bone, shoved the knife between the vertebrae and twisted.

Granny went still.

Cas moved off of her, breathing hard. His hand ached from the violent act he just committed, but since the bitch was dead- for good this time- he could handle the pain. He wiped his brow and looked up. Dean was staring at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Dean muttered, turning away. There was a rather sick look on his face. "Sam, you okay?"

"I'm fine," Sam grunted, holding his arm gingerly. "I need to ice my shoulder, but other than that, I'm fine."

"Okay. You go to the car. Cas and I will dispose of the corpse."

Once Sam was gone, Dean gave a soft sigh and turned back to the decapitated corpse. Cas followed and wordlessly helped him pick up Granny and threw her back in her desecrated grave. He noticed Dean was avoiding his eyes. "Never expected to see you so squeamish."

Dean threw him a dirty look. He started to pour salt into the grave. "Never expected to see you decapitate a zombie."

"Why? You've seen me kill before."

"Yeah, but it's usually…" He gave a short slow wave. "Very Jedi-like."

"I'm not an angel anymore," Cas reminded him as he poured gas into the grave.

"Don't get me wrong. I think it's very cool you can still kick a lot of ass despite losing your mojo but…" he shrugged. "I guess I'm just glad you didn't turn out to be asshole, like everyone else."

Dean lit a match and tossed it into the open grave, watching it go up in flames.

Cas suspected Dean had only said that to save face. It was obvious Dean felt uncomfortable around him. Uncomfortable by the constant reminder that the future is totally and utterly fucked.

Except, for Cas, he was uncomfortable with Dean. Dean, who would murder in cold blood because it was necessary. Dean, who tortured a demon for seven hours straight, long after it had spilt its secrets. Dean, who once beaten a man to near-death because the idiot had the nerve to bring Sam up in a conversation.

_This _was not that Dean. This Dean still cared about his fellow human beings. This Dean who bit his tongue at times because he knew his words would hurt. This Dean still had hope.

They trudged back the Impala in tense silence, and Cas barely gave Sam a glance before going into the backseat.

()

A/N: There was suppose to be more to this, but because of school and a million of other things, I forgot what else was suppose to go in here. Alas, one more chapter to go. Next one is the longest.

Truth be told, I'm hating this fic a little, just because I feel it's not measuring up to my usual standard of writing. I will most likely rewrite certain bits. Especially the beginning. That annoys me the most.

R/R, peeps.


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